Late 74th Hunger Games: Peeta's POV
by lucky97mary
Summary: Only a few tributes remain in the 74th annual Hunger Games when a rule change is made, allowing two district partners to be victors together. Peeta is dying at this point, and is sure Katniss would never come to save him. But what is Peeta feeling when he find out he is wrong? Peeta's P.O.V. First FanFic, please give it a read! All characters/plot belong to Suzanne Collins
1. Dying?

A change in the rules?

A victory for two district partners?

How is that being allowed?

Am I hallucinating again?

No, that's impossible. Only shimmery glimpses of visions remain as the tracker jacker venom slowly exits my body. And slowly indeed, as the bleeding from the massive gash in my leg has been slowed by not only time but all the dirt and leaves that I used to camouflage myself. A futile attempt, really. Puss oozed from the wound last time I had seen it, and I was famished and hadn't had water in days. Surviving these games would be impossible for me; I had known that from the beginning. I could only hope it would be possible for Katniss.

But she wouldn't come to be allies with me, that much I was sure of. Even if she was doing well enough to come find me, she wouldn't do so, because she hates me and has long ago deemed me untrustworthy. I could see it in her eyes when she realized I was with the Career pack, and had known she couldn't see all the love in mine. How silly, how completely ridiculous of me to even think for a second she would come find me, that she would heal me and kiss me and the two of us would make it home and live happily ever after. I knew none of that could happen. She would never come to find me and even if she did, I was past healing. I was dying. _I'm dying. _I was shocked by how sure of this resolution I was. So why not let myself hope, if this was the end then.

I drifted away from the arena in my mind as I did my best to ignore the pain radiating from the gash down my thigh. I wished Cato had killed me, but he wasn't that merciful. Slowly, he was losing his mind like so many others in the arena, that much was evident in the rage he had displayed earlier. But that didn't matter, because right now I was back home, baking side by side with my father, the familiar smells of baking bread and cookies filling the air. But my mother crashed into the room yelling, shattering the vision. And then I was gazing at the back of a girl with two brown braids down her back as she grinned and sung so sweetly the birds stopped to listen. I would gaze at that girl so many times over the years, so many times I would try to work up the nerve to talk to her, yet my efforts would be fruitless. The memory was shattered just as quickly as the first, knowing she had no idea I'd even existed prior to the Hunger Games. So I moved on from the memories as none gave me any comfort.

I envisioned an impossible future, but one I had dreamt about so many times. Katniss and I were home in District 12, and she loved me. We were a couple, holding hands and kissing and I was so happy, just so happy. I would visit the Meadow and woods with her, where she so often slipped away to in order to feed her family. And she had chosen me over the boy she'd known for years, Gale, in these visions. He stood by, jealous of us, finally seeing what I had been through all those years I watched them together. My eyes slip shut at the idea, and I smile despite the pain.

Before I realize it, it is morning and the sun is brimming over the horizon. Not that it matters if I'm awake anyways, there's nothing for me to do other than wait to die. _Or wait for Katniss._ The thought startles me. But was the rule change just another vision, a dream? It didn't matter anyway, I reminded myself. Katniss wouldn't come to you.

Still, nothing to do but wait. Wait to die, wait for another tribute, wait for the sun to set and night to fall. Time passes strangely as I lie there, as unrecognizable as a rock, covered as I am in my surroundings. The time passes swiftly sometimes, the sun moving across the sky in a way that had me wondering if I was imagining it; other times I just focus on each breath.

_In, out._

_In, out._

_Katniss._

_In, out._

_Where is she?_

_In, out._

_Have Cato and Clove caught up to her?_

_In, out._

This process is agonizing, but still I have nothing to do but wait. That's when I hear quiet sloshing through the water, a sound that disrupts the babble of the stream that I'd listened to for so long. Well, this is it. Game over.

The noise came closer and closer to me. Adrenaline seemed to trickle slowly into my veins, my body too depleted to have normal reactions to danger. I tried not to move and give away my hidden position. _What's the point? Are you looking to suffer further?_ My mind seemed to question its own sanity as I watched a tribute emerge from around the bend in the river. I squinted through the mud, knowing opening my blue eyes would give away my position. It was a girl, I realized.

But it wasn't Clove.

It wasn't the sly red-head.

It wasn't anyone I expected it to be.

It was Katniss.


	2. Hope

I spoke to her, unable to resist as she called my name in a hushed voice. "You here to finish me off, sweetheart?" I asked, knowing Haymitch often called her sweetheart when he was drunk. She whirled, unable to find the source of the sound, me. How unusual that was. She was a hunter, aware of her surroundings and truly a part of them. Something must be wrong for her to not find me. Anger boiled in my veins at the very thought of any other tribute hurting her, though I quickly settled it to look at her. She was disheveled and clearly exhausted, but alive. There was something different about her braid I couldn't put my finger on, and her eyes were fierce as always. The quiver she had taken from Glimmer was slung over her back, and her bow was raised and ready to strike.

"Peeta? Where are you? Peeta?" she hissed, squinting into the bank I had hidden myself in and taking a step towards it, and me.

"Well don't step on me," I said, wincing at the thought of her stepping on the wound in my thigh. Finally I open my eyes, and she gasps at me. I let out a laugh at her astounded face.

"Close your eyes again," she says, and I oblige. I can feel her move closer to me and say "I guess all those hours of decorating cakes paid off," her voice still shocked.

"Yes, frosting, the final defense of the dying." It surprises me how quickly her presence distracts me from the pain I've been trying to ignore for so many hours. "You're not going to die." In her voice is the determination anyone could see in her eyes when she volunteered for her sister, but I'm aware I am long past healing, the wound is so infected.

"Says who?"

"Says me. We're on the same team now, you know."

I open my eyes to look at her again, trying to confirm if this is dream or not. I had been so sure she would never come for me.

"So I heard. Nice of you to find what's left of me." She pulls out a water bottle for me to drink from and asks if Cato had cut me.

"Left leg, up high," I tell her.

"Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," she responds, and I know this isn't going to go well. So I figure that before my wound sends her running, I may as well give it a shot.

"Lean down a minute first, I need to tell you something." She leans down towards me, her ear tipped towards my mouth, her proximity thrilling me. "Remember, we're madly in love, so it's alright to kiss me anytime you feel like it." Katniss' abrupt movement backwards has me regretting saying anything until she lets out a laugh, saying "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind."

Well, it was worth a try I guess. She tries to move me into the stream, but I find that I can't help her at all. My body is too weak to move, and even if she does the moving my leg screams in protest. I try hard to stay strong for her sake.


	3. Short-Lived Relief

My efforts to stay strong are punctuated by little yelps that escape me as if they've got a mind of their own. Katniss tries over and over to pull me over to the stream, but it takes a huge yank from her to pull me out of the plants and rocks.

I can feel tears squeeze out of the corner of my eyes at the sensation of branches and leaves being tugged roughly from the gash in my leg. I can hardly hear Katniss when she poses a question that probably doesn't need any answer as pain sends my head swirling.

"Look, Peeta," she began, her voice strained with barely concealed stress, "I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?"

It's just about all I can do to mutter "excellent" through gritted teeth. I can feel her move closer to me, almost on the ground herself.

"On three," she declared, her voice much louder now. "One, two, three!"

She rolls me over just once, but this pain is far, far worse than the debris being pulled out of my wound; instead, it's being shoved _in_ under the weight of my body. I can feel every little piece being pushed into the raw flesh, and suddenly my entire leg is on fire.

I can't help but screech, the noise sounding inhuman. I can see I've startled Katniss, and she pulls back quickly. As I try and breathe, and try to stop the sounds I'm making, she sits back on her haunches, biting her lip and toying unconsciously with the end of her braid.

Watching her is about the only thing potent enough to distract me from the pain, but suddenly she looks up, her face set in grim lines of determination.

"Okay, change of plans. I'm not going to put you all the way in." She sounds very, very nervous, but incredible relief sweeps through me knowing that I won't have to undergo the process again.

"No more rolling?" I ask, hoping she'll confirm.

"That's all done," I sigh in relief as she continues, "Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?"

She sounds suddenly child-like, seemingly at a loss for what to do next. As there isn't much I can do to help her with what has to come next, I follow her orders and keep an eye out for other tributes.

After a few moments of deliberation, I watch as she fills up a small pouch and two bottles with water from the stream. She sets up a little rotation, pouring one of the containers over my body while the other two sit against the flow of the water, always filling.

My body seems to be overheated, so the cool water brings relief. When she moves onto the gash, however, relief is nowhere to be found. But I focus on Katniss, and how worry creases her face, making me selfishly happy. _Perhaps she cares a bit more than she let on…_then I recall the look on her face when she spotted me with the Careers.

Perhaps I shouldn't get my hopes up.


End file.
